


Waiting for the exhale

by justhockey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel Can Hear Longing (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Dean Winchester, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:46:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27532477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justhockey/pseuds/justhockey
Summary: Dean is certain there isn’t any room left in his body for more pain, he already aches so completely he’s certain that there’s nothing left of him but grief.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 218





	Waiting for the exhale

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Wishing Well_ by Juice WRLD.

He isn’t sure how long he sits there, the cold floor beneath him as his shoulder blades dig into the brick wall at his back. It could be minutes, it could be an eternity, Dean doesn’t know. 

His phone vibrates again and again, and he knows it’s Sammy but he just - doesn’t care. Can’t bring himself to care about anything past the hollow weight in his chest, the void where his heart should be beating but just isn’t anymore. Because it’s gone now, ripped from him just like - just like _Cas_ was. 

Dean can taste copper in his mouth from where he’d bitten his tongue as he crashed to the floor. He can still feel the warmth of Cas’ as he gripped his shoulder, can’t bear to look at the bloody handprint he left behind for fear that it will shatter him completely - the last physical reminder that Cas had touched him, had touched his life. 

He doesn’t hear Sam and Jack enter the bunker, and he doesn’t hear them calling out his name. Dean has no idea they’re even there until Sam is crouched in front of him, hands holding Dean’s forearms and forcing him to make eye contact. 

His voice finally registers in Dean’s head and he blinks, trying to clear the fog from his brain and the agony from his chest. 

Only one is willing to leave. 

“Dean, what happened? Where’s Cas?” Sam asks. 

His name alone makes Dean’s hands tremble, makes the deepest, most hidden parts of him want to cry in despair. And he knows it’s written all over his face, because Sam gasps and Jack begins to cry and _shit,_ this isn’t right - Dean wasn’t worth this. 

He forces himself to look at Jack, who lost his mother and his father, lost his soul and his life too, and yet Dean has never seen him look so utterly devastated. He wants to undo it all, wants to take back every single thing he’s ever done that’s lead up to this point - he’d do anything, give _everything_ to have Cas back. 

When Jack first came to them, Dean could hardly stand to look at him. He was Lucifer’s child, the most powerful thing they would have ever faced. Then after their Mom, after Mary, all Dean felt was rage at the sight of Jack’s face. And now he looks at him and feels guilty for taking Castiel from him, feels sorrow because he sees the best of Castiel in his eyes and it hurts too much to look at that. 

“The Empty,” Dean replies. 

His voice is void of all emotion, somehow, even though it feels like he’s experiencing every emotion all at once and he’s buckling beneath them all. 

Sam looks confused, but Jack - Jack knows. He knew about the deal that Castiel made, about the stipulation in the contract. Dean looks away before he can ask, because he has no idea how he can even begin to answer that. 

Maybe Jack deserves to know, because Cas was his true father and he should get to know why he’s gone now. But Dean just can’t bring himself to tell him, to tell either of them. Because it’s the last thing he has of Castiel, the last, most powerful moment they’ve ever shared, and maybe it’s selfish, but Dean wants to keep it for himself. Or maybe he doesn’t want them to look at him like it’s his fault. Or maybe Dean doesn’t want to share the last part of him that is still somewhat intact. 

“Dean, everyone else is gone too,” Sam says. 

Dean’s head snaps up. 

“What?” 

Because this can’t be it, it can’t be how it ends. Not after everything they’ve been through and everything they’ve sacrificed. Not after all the pain and the loss and the fear. Not after Cas. 

“Everyone. It’s like the whole world is standing still,” Jack says. 

Dean wants to close his eyes and never open them again. Instead, he takes a deep breath and stands up. 

“Let’s bring them back.”

***

Dean can’t stand still. If he stops then he thinks, and if he thinks then he _hurts._

He remembers being a kid on a hunt with his dad, back when Sammy was too young to go with them. He remembers the couple that were killed by a pair of werewolves, how the guy had died trying to save his fiancée. He remembers the drive home after killing them all, and the way his dad turned to him and said, _”Love is just weakness, it gets you killed.”_

Dean thinks his dad must have been right, because Cas is dead and Dean feels like he’s dying too.

“We have to - we have to fix this. We need to - we need to get them back. We can, if we just-“

Dean is frantic and breathless, eyes darting around the room and not settling on any one thing for longer than a fraction of a second. His hands tremble as he runs his finger along the spines of all the books in the library, looking - searching, so desperately for something, _anything_ , that can help them. 

“Dean,” Sam says. 

His voice is gentle, like he’s talking to a spooked animal, like one wrong word will break Dean completely. 

Dean doesn’t stop - _can’t._ If he does, if he takes even a second to think about this, he’s certain it will kill him. Certain that the weight of this loss will bury him some place that he can’t dig himself out of. So he can’t. He just can’t. 

“Maybe if we try Rowena’s books, surely, there must be-“

None of his sentences are whole, like he can’t focus on one thought long enough for it to form into a coherent sentence. It’s as if he’s too scared to let his thoughts stay in one place too long, lest they become consumed by something he doesn’t know how to process. 

“Dean, stop,” Sam tells him, firmer this time. 

He stills for a moment, finger poised to pull out a book from the shelf. It’s old and leather-bound, black with blue inscriptions on the side. Dean is so still he barely looks like he’s breathing. His hands still shake. 

“I can’t.”

“Dean, it’s okay.”

“ _No!_ None of this is okay, Sam. Everyone is gone and we need to bring them back,” Dean yells. 

His voice doesn’t tremble but his eyes are filled with tears that hold more pain than he can carry, than he could ever dare to let out. 

“Cas is gone, it’s okay to take a second to breathe,” Sam tries to tell him. 

Dean shakes his head. His eyes and fists alike, squeezed so tightly it’s a wonder it doesn’t hurt. Though Dean is certain there isn’t any room left in his body for more pain, he already aches so completely he’s certain that there’s nothing left of him but grief. 

“We have a job to do,” Dean says. 

Because they do. Dean’s world has ended, has collapsed in on itself like a dying star, but the rest of the world - the rest of the world still has a chance. And it’s Dean and Sam’s job to fix it just like they always have done, just like Chuck wrote them into existence for. 

“Listen-“

“-stop. Just. Just _stop._ I can’t, Sammy.” 

He won’t let himself. Because if he does, if he lets go now, he’ll find himself somewhere he can’t escape from, and they just don’t have time for that. Not now. Cas - Cas gave his life for Dean, gave his life so they would have a chance to save this world and all the people who call it home. Dean won’t let that sacrifice go to waste. He can _feel_ when the apocalypse is over, when their job is done. 

Sam looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. He closes his mouth and nods, let’s his too long hair cover his eyes for a moment, just long enough to compose himself before he looks back up at Dean. 

“So. How do we fix this?”

***

It’s over.

God is dead and everyone is back and Dean feels nothing. 

Their whole lives, everything they’ve ever done has been about the greater good. You make sacrifices in order to make the world better, safer. It’s what they do, it’s who they are. But. 

Dean knows he would give everyone on earth - save for Sammy - to have Castiel back. He shouldn’t want that, it’s not what they’re about, but his entire life has been about what other people need and this, _this_ is what Dean needs. It’s selfish beyond belief, the exact opposite of what Castiel believed him to be. 

_”You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.”_

But Dean thinks it’s okay to be selfish, just this once. To want, more than anything, something for himself. 

But wanting doesn’t change anything, wanting doesn’t reach The Empty and it can’t bring Cas back, and Dean knows this. He knew killing Chuck wouldn’t change Cas’ fate - but there was a part of him, a tiny, secret part of him that hoped he could come home, that Dean could put this right. 

Being wrong has never cut so deep. 

Eileen and Sam and Jack are saying goodbye to Charlie and Bobby as they head off, but Dean can’t bring himself to leave his room. 

Everywhere he looks, all he sees is Cas, he’s in everything around them, in the very foundations of their home. All of it hurts and Dean can’t turn it off out there. So he stays in his room, eyes closed tight and laying still enough to play dead, to play like this isn’t pure agony. 

He can’t cry again, not anymore. If he starts he knows that he won’t stop, that he’ll drown in the anguish, and he can’t yet. Not until he knows it’s over for good, that Sammy won’t need him anymore. Then, maybe, he can let go, he can let this kill him like it’s trying to. But not until he’s certain. 

He hears a single set of footsteps outside his door, a quick knock, and then it opens. He knows it’s Sam without opening his eyes, and he can’t deal with this, can’t talk about it like Sam wants him to. He breathes evenly and feigns sleep, hopes that Sam will buy it, or at least take the hint if he doesn’t. 

“Dean.”

Winchesters have always been stubborn. 

“Come on, man,” he tries again. 

Dean doesn’t give him anything. 

“You have to talk about this.” 

Dean stands up then, crosses his arms over his chest and stares Sammy down. 

“No,” is all he says. 

Sam sighs, rubs at his forehead with his fingers, like he’s talking to an uncooperative child. 

“Listen to me-“

“No, _you_ listen, Sammy. What part of _I can’t,_ don’t you understand?”

Dean is angry. Angry and destructive - oh the irony of that. But he needs to be, because being angry is so tiring after doing it for so long, and it leaves him with no energy to feel anything else. That’s what he needs. He needs to just - just _not._

“Dean, it’s okay to grieve. You lost Cas,” Sam says gently. 

“We all lost him.”

Sam smiles sadly then, shakes his head a little. 

“But it’s not the same,” he tells Dean. “It’s different for you.”

And he’s not sure why - not sure if it’s the words, or the way Sammy looks at him, the fact that he _knows,_ or just _everything_ \- but it’s that that breaks him. 

Dean gasps like he’s dying, and suddenly every agonising feeling he’d been smothering rushes over him like a tidal wave. A sob rips it’s way out of his chest and he collapses, Sam reaching out to catch him just before his knees touch the floor. 

Dean can hear screaming, and it takes a while to realise that it’s _him,_ that he’s wailing and yelling and falling apart in Sam’s arms as Sam desperately tries to keep him together. 

He cries for every time he hasn’t let himself, for the childhood that was stolen from him, for everyone he’s lost, for every time he should have just _said something _but didn’t.__

__But most of all, he cries for Castiel. He cries for the angel who saw his soul laid bare in hell and decided he was worth saving, who saved him and sacrificed for him, who gave everything, who saw every bad part of Dean and loved him anyway._ _

__He cries because he never got to say it back._ _

____

***

Somewhere, in the endless nothingness, an angel hears his cries, feels his pain like it’s their own, and they awaken.

***

Time feels sticky, slow, like it’s stretching out eternally.

It might have been days, but it could have been weeks, Dean isn’t sure. He’s only left his room to go to the bathroom and to take in the plates of food that keep being placed in front of his door. 

It’s quiet throughout the bunker, until it isn’t. 

The commotion is the first thing to pull him from his hiding place, because there are loud voices, then laughing, and Dean thinks he hears someone call his name. 

He opens his bedroom door and - 

“ _Cas?_ ”

His voice cracks and he’s sure his eyes are deceiving him, certain this can’t be real, but - 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. 

He smiles and Dean feels alive. 

“How?” Dean manages to ask. 

He’s staring, desperate to reach out and touch him but too afraid that if he does Cas will disappear like a wisp of smoke, a mirage. 

“You woke me up,” Cas explains. “I felt you calling for me, and I always come when you call.”

And he does. Fuck, he really does. 

Dean cries then, for the first time since he broke apart in Sam’s arms. 

He reaches out, because he can’t bear it, can’t go a single second longer without touching Cas, without holding him close and feeling that he’s real, _knowing_ that it’s true. 

He goes easily when Dean holds Cas’ head gently, cupping his jaw and letting his thumbs brush over his cheekbones. Dean looks over every millimetre of Cas’ face - there’s not a single part of him that he doesn’t want to see and commit to memory. 

Castiel smiles again and Dean laughs - in shock, disbelief, complete and utter _relief._

He leans closer, let’s his forehead rest against Cas’ so he feel can his warmth. 

“You’re real,” Dean whispers. 

“I’m real,” Castiel promises. 

He’d prayed for this - to a god that doesn’t exist anymore, to Cas, to all the angels and demons, and everything in between. He still hadn’t believed it was possible. 

“Cas, I have to tell you-“

“I know, Dean, I heard you. I felt you.”

Castiel takes hold of one of Dean’s hands, pulls it away from his face and rests it over his heart. Dean can feel it beating, slow and steady and _real,_ in perfect sync with his own. 

_”You asked what about all of this is real. We are.”_

“No, no I have to say it. You deserve to hear it, Cas.”

Because their lives, this world, it’s too unpredictable to waste another second pretending, another second of being afraid of letting himself feel things. It hurts all the same, whether he lets himself love or not. So if he can have this, if _they_ can have this, then he’s going to take it. 

“You said the one thing you wanted was something you can’t have, but Cas - that’s not true. You can have it, you can have _me._ ”

They’re both crying now, holding onto each other like they’re the only things keeping themselves afloat. Like they might die if they let go. 

“I love you, Cas,” Dean says. 

Kissing Castiel feels like breathing again, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time and now, finally, he gets to exhale. 

They weren’t written. Dean and Cas, they were the one part of this story that Chuck didn’t write, didn’t plan for, didn’t expect. But Dean knows now, as Cas smiles at him, that this was always meant to happen. It might not have been part of the book, but there was no way that in this universe, with this Castiel and this Dean, that they wouldn’t fall in love. 

They were inevitable.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not ok my dudes, this show has broken me


End file.
